Poetry By Nicole Zwolinski

Igor Spasic CC




I COME FROM THE VARIETY

of Mid-Westerners who draw 
out long antennas from handled radios
and shuttled their children to the basement
as soon as the sirens wail.

They’d tuck us in with blankets, my Rainbow 
Brite pillow, the crackling radio that sounded 
like cackles, and leave us with one flashlight
to fight over.

Under the stairs, in the dark crawl space,
we’d listen as the footsteps stumbled
and the windows slammed shut, locks
sealing their lips with smacks.

The silence would whirl our panic
into frothy foam that would sizzle
fear and excitement, like drinking 
Pepsi with our cheeks packed with pop rocks.

As the eldest, I’d sacrifice myself to the storm
in search of our parents, and always, 
I’d find them, swinging in the wind
sipping a beer, my dad, not my mom

and watching the charcoal skies bloom
a shade of dark, I’d never seen before.
The breeze bellowing screams 
and bending trees, sucking the leaves

right off – bare, like a cartoon cat sucking the fish
to the bone. The clouds would curl and drop
like a curtain flat and the sky would shush
the audience still.

​




WHEN WE OWNED THE NIGHTS

Remember the red wagon, 
before it had rusted?
When time tumbled toward the earth 
and swirled around our ankles,
but didn’t chain us down?

Night was when fun started.
The slick sky a dark ink 
With matte stars like pinholes
in a faded shoebox diorama.

We ran through the neighborhood
and hid in bushes, shrinking 
out of the purview of the lamp light 
cutting through windows.

Fear never graced us while we played
flashlight tag, dressed in black and doused in bug spray,
adults not concerned with our whereabouts.

In slow motion 9:00 pm shifts to 10:30 and we give up; 
falling to cool ground and watching the stars,
searching for shooting ones while swatting mosquitos
away from exposed skin.

Quietly, parting ways after finding no wishes 
in the drape with no constellations, 
to surrender to sleep before morning.

The wagon waited, tipped on its side, 
on the dewy green grass 
blended with yellow dandelions 
as bumblebees stretched at dawn. 

​


Nicole Zwolinski’s first full-length poetry collection, Motherhead is forthcoming by Finishing Line Press in August 2026 . She has been published in the Feminine Collective, Firewords Quarterly, Alternate Routes, Effemera, the first Gather anthology and more.  She was shortlisted for the Central Avenue Poetry prize and has two poems featured in their 2026 anthology. You can find her on Instagram @nicolezwrites and links to all her other writing spaces there.